


Token

by dirtybandaid



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Don't Like Don't Read, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Two Shot, Underage Drinking, i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-10-03 13:40:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17285123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtybandaid/pseuds/dirtybandaid
Summary: That fateful day was quickly approaching. Fortunately, Eric and Dylan had each other.





	1. Admittance

**Author's Note:**

> *DON'T LIKE? DON'T READ.*  
> #KEEP YOUR HATE TO YOURSELF.#  
> @I DO NOT CONDONE/PROMOTE/GLORIFY ANY CRIMINAL ACTIVITY.@  
> &NOT ALL IS ACCURATE; I DO NOT HAVE A BETA; THIS IS OBVIOUSLY AN AU.&

It was the Saturday before they permanently liberated themselves from their lives. Lives that weren’t theirs, individualities that were implemented into minds that refused. A xenotransplant deemed unsuccessful due to the rejection felt from their bodies of a seemingly perfect alternative for their minds and hearts. Eric and Dylan, isolated in their turmoil, felt themselves detach from their external realities and seep into each other as relevant dreams. ‘ _No more of them forcing into us, it's us forcing onto them_ ,’ they thought. Their plans for the following Tuesday were created with borderline perfectionist mentalities. The feeling of finally belonging to a tier, having power, and never again having to allow themselves be weakened by pain created by their own perceptions. Not by their lonesomes, no, no, side by side, as REB and VoDKa, will they reign over their kingdom as Gods, laughing all the way. All would feel their joyous wrath. They would finally feel alive.

**x+x**

Eric slowly ascended to his morning rise, lying in his bed for hours before deciding he was tired of the taste of his own breath. The indent on his bare chest made a less noticeable dip as his back and arms forced themselves up and out of the confines of the sheets. He inhaled deeply and stretched, slumping back to look down at a bulge just under his abdomen, covered by already-stained boxers from the morning before. He, repulsed by his own body’s function, scowled at his unwanted arousal. He began to play with the tented fabric of his underwear; it bounced around, it was _heavy_. Eric scoffed and pulled his hand away. Who the fuck did he think he was getting morning wood? No one wanted to touch his dick anyway, not even himself. It was noon when he got out of bed and into the coldest shower he thinks he has ever had.

April 20th was approaching and the days passing grew shorter and shorter. Eric was ready- so fucking ready- but Dylan had been showing signs of cowardice and hesitance. Eric won’t stand for that, absolutely not. Too much time, effort, and hard earned money at Blackjack had been spent. He and Dylan both knew that Dylan was in too far to back out now. He was in this position since he and Eric first began to share their taboo fantasies. Late night webchats and drunk sleepovers had sealed their fates. Both had yearned for better circumstances, for easier decisions, for higher powers; they believed they could bring them forth. They already knew how the story was going to end and they had already claimed each other as their own idols. What else did they need?

The warm exit from a chilled bathroom made Eric find slight comfort in something he only felt while drunk or whatever it was he imagined it felt to be in another’s arms. He had felt the same way when he discovered his own capabilities, and again when he realized that Dylan- in the beginning- was just as willing as he was to go through with it. He called Dylan, who was going to pick him up, and then they would see what they would do with what precious little time they had for the day before them. It was coming much, much too soon, fast and blurry, or maybe that was the ‘dank ass stank ass’ from the last couple of days? Nevertheless, Eric needed to assure Dylan’s compliance, consensual or not. He needed to know that it wasn’t _just_ another fantasy, it was _not_ another hopeless hope that he was going to be remembered. That day was going to be the only tally mark that was on the blank spot under **_SOMEBODY_** and would live segregated to the consistent slashes under **_NOBODY_**. Eric quivered and smirked at the thought. Somebody. Tuesday.

**+x+**

Dylan was parked outside of Eric’s house in ten minutes, honking his horn. The tape of the cassette in his stereo system was slowly burning away with the increasing heat of spring, the volume that it was being played at not giving it much more to go. As Dylan beat his steering wheel, Eric busted out the door, yelling at his mom, and slamming the door behind him. Laughing raucously and kicking the floors of his car, Dylan greeted Eric with their special handshake and a swig of his open container. The anticipation and deliverance of Eric’s phone call, the plans they had for that very night, the Budweiser in a paper sack- it all made him manic and breathless. And he, better than anyone, knew that he had no capacity for the abundance of such foreign happiness that was overtaking him. As Dylan’s blood rushed with excitement, Eric was leaning into the heel of his hand and looking out at his house, chewing solemnly on the inside of his lip. Dylan figured that Eric was simmering at a comment his mother made before he left, maybe she didn’t give him any slack for skipping class yesterday, despite Eric assuring Dylan that it wouldn’t be _that_ big of a deal. 

Dylan peeked over at his best friend as he leaned in to look for the tape that Eric liked, carefully placing the tape in his lap. Eric’s eyes were dulled from the persistent numbness that was caused by his home, his hypersensitivity to stimulation, that fucking school of his. Dylan’s heart sank into his stomach as he hesitantly asked Eric where they should go, wondering if it was even worth the ten minute drive to come pick him up. Eric popped in the new tape and threw the other one in the console between them, he turned down the volume to allow Dylan to hear his instructions. A barely-audible mumble came from his passenger, and Dylan nodded, asking Eric to hold the beer while they rode. He lit a cigarette and passed it on to Eric, who snatched it away. Eric turned the volume knob, so loud that Dylan jumped in his seat, making the car lurch forward. Eric shot Dylan an agitated look, thinking, ‘ _Fucking Klebold. He never puts it in park_.’ With this, Dylan drove away, singing to his tape in an attempt to drown out Eric’s deep, hissing drags that were fuses burning out in his ears. These moments weren’t new, but they were festering. Eric couldn’t wait to be part of a world that was theirs. 

Utopia. 

Silence. 

**x+x**

They came to a stop at Blackjack Pizza, and Dylan’s heart twitched again. He warned Eric about going into the establishment when he wasn’t on the clock seeing as how their boss was a bitch about it. He was always saying about how one day they’ll come to pick up a pizza, or talk to Phil, and they’ll have to hand in their nametags at the same time.

“Shut up,” Eric snapped. “I ain’t gonna be _long_.” He slammed the car door behind him, thinking how stupid it was for Dylan to try to get in their own way of their plans. This job was nothing compared to the execution of NBK, and most importantly, the bigger picture. 

Dylan slumped in his seat and looked out of his window at Eric aggressively swinging the glass door to Blackjack open. It stood, suspended, and Dylan waited for it to unlatch and slowly swing back to its place. It was where it belonged, safe and snug in its frame, something he and Eric could never do. He picked at the skin at the sides of his nails and stared at the glare of door. Why couldn’t they just swing back into the frame? Dylan huffed and shook his head. This intrusive thought came into his head and he felt his body swell with regret and anger. The stickiness of blood coated the tips of his fingers and he licked it away. The glass door swung open again.

Eric came out of their workplace and Dylan saw the first hint of a good mood from him. A mouthing of a laugh and the crinkling corners of dark eyes caught Dylan’s attention. Eric’s countenance, within 5 minutes, had made a healthy recovery. Dylan raised his eyebrows, following with a single furrowed brow. Eric’s ecstatic cackling from behind the windshield shook his chest. The elder boy slammed his hands down on the hood of the car, then ran around to his door and hopped in.

“So,” Eric panted, “Phil’s buddy is gonna help us out. Mark. We went shootin’ with ‘im, you remember. You work tomorrow?”

“You don’t know? Didn’t you make this week’s schedules? I thought you got promoted,” Dylan dug into the console, pushing away tapes and gum wrappers, “I thought shift managers made the schedules.”

“We do, but the ones we got for this pay period were already made,” Eric shrugged. “I won’t get to make schedules until next pay period, and well. You know.” He smiled earnestly at Dylan, who was chewing on the tip of his tongue.

Dylan had suddenly been reminded of what he would be leaving behind. He stared down at his schedule and stayed still for a few moments. A harmless punch to his arm reminded him of what he would be leaving behind. He blinked at the paper in his lap and nodded confidently. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I work tomorrow.”

“Good! Me too. We’ll take the ‘merchandise’ home after work,” Eric smiled genuinely. “Sound good?”

“For sure,” Dylan agreed. “Where to now?”

“To celebrate.”

**+x+**

Two phone calls and a drive-around later, the two returned to the refuge of Eric’s home. Silent and careful, the two snuck behind a passed-out Wayne, who was snoring with a beer in hand in front of a screen of infomercials. Eric held a ziplock baggie of pot under his waistband, while Dylan held a bottle of McCormick’s red label under his. They stared at each other in the dark and held one another’s forearms as they climbed down creaky stairs, down into the basement. The pungent scent of skunk wafted into Eric’s nose and he squeezed Dylan. The shorter failed to find the other’s eyes in the dark, looking up at a shadow of a head in front of a flickering blue background from two steps below.

“We gotta hurry,” Eric hissed into Dylan’s ear. “You got the Zig-Zags?”

“In my pocket,” Dylan whispered back. “You go first- open the door.”

As soon as Dylan carefully closed the door behind him, Eric turned on a small lamp next to the couch. Dylan locked the door and pulled out the pint and a half of vodka that was conservatively pressed against his pelvis. Cracking the bottle open, Dylan smelled its contents. He shivered and took the primary swig. The burn and the warmth after made him smile. He passed the bottle onto Eric, who took three gulps to himself.

“No slow-rollin’ tonight?” Questioned Dylan.

Eric scoffed as he threw the baggie onto the table before him, “Fuck no.”

Dylan sat on a chair in front of the table, “What’s bothering you _now_?” He looked up at Eric, who paced for a minute before taking another several gulps at the bottle. 

“My mom- just- fuck it,” Eric gave up. “It won’t matter anymore in a couple days.” He grinned and raised his eyebrows, “Right?”

Dylan stayed silent and began to roll a joint, grinding the weed between his fingers and picking out the stems. He wanted to be excited but only felt himself grow weak at the thought. He felt Eric’s eyes boring into him as he worked the paper back and forth. All he really wanted to do was _die_ , not kill. Licking the glue and carefully pressing the paper down, the joint was finished, and Eric was fuming. 

Dylan looked beside him and shrugged, “What? You know I can’t pay attention when I roll. Otherwise-”

“Are you gonna pussy out on me?” Eric asked roughly. “Are you gonna let all this planning go to waste because you’re fucking _depressed_?”

The younger felt a dagger plunge into his heart, yet he mustered a croaky, “No.”

Eric didn’t feel assured. He glared at Dylan but still settled into the couch and flicked his lighter. Dylan handed him the joint and reached for the vodka, taking several swigs to catch up with Eric. The burn made the pain in his chest go away swiftly and without qualm. Eric lit the joint as Dylan wiped his mouth. Their nights together were never as tense as it was right now and it was only building.

They smoked in silence, their perception slowing down and their moods going up. 

“Hey,” Eric piped, “Put on some music.”

Dylan only nodded like a dimwit. He rose, stumbled, and made his way to the stereo set. Turning the volume knob down, Dylan pressed the power button and turned the disc back to track one. He reasonably raised the sound, not too loud, but not quiet enough to strain the ears, and shuffled back to the couch. He plopped down, already feeling himself become intoxicated. 

‘ _One-hundred proof bliss_ ,’ he thought.

**x+x**

The night went on. Dylan and Eric, with time, got looser, yet the atmosphere was growing less and less light-hearted. With each shot of the liquor, they grew more heated; with each hit of the doobie, they grew more aware of each other’s way of being. Dylan wanted to cut himself, Eric wanted to cut someone else, and both wanted to see (and _feel_ ) a release. It felt as if it would never come, not even with NBK steadily approaching. The walls were closing in. Dylan swallowed dryly. Eric only stared.

After putting the joint out, Eric turned to his best friend and muttered, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Dylan whispered. He looked back at Eric, barely making eye contact.

Eric paused, slowly blinked, then laughed. Oddly enough, Dylan started to laugh too. They laughed and laughed and attempted to stifle their laughter but failed miserably and continued to laugh until their eyes were watery. Dylan got the hiccups, a symptom of laughing too much. Eric laughed even harder at this, a snort escaping him. They laughed until the last note of the last song on the album was played. Even so, they laughed in the crippling silence of the room. Eventually, gradually, their laughter died. It got ominously quiet. In this moment, they became just a little more sober.

Dylan wiped his eyes, “It’s really happening, huh?”

“Yep. It sure is,” Eric replied. “It really is.”

“I…” Dylan started. Then, he abruptly closed his mouth. He didn’t know what to talk about first. He had so much to explain. The weight of so much to clarify and make amends to was suffocating him. He owed Eric, big time.

Eric could see Dylan hesitating and mulling and being distracted over his thoughts. He could feel Dylan drifting away, and he didn’t like that. All of a sudden, Eric felt self conscious and guilty. He was such a fucking asshole and he knew it, but Dylan was the one who took the brunt of it. He could hear Dylan’s voice echoing in his head from one of the many, repetitive arguments they would always have when Eric got too angry and fed up. Despite his own kicking and screaming, Dylan would bravely ask:

‘ _Do you act like this with anyone else? Or am I the lucky one who sees this side of you?_ ’

And for some reason that only made Eric angrier, so he would shove at Dylan, insult him, and storm away. Eric felt a sharpness in gut. He wanted to show Dylan that he wasn’t just a punching bag, but his only true friend. He wanted to make it all better for Dylan, and he would do anything to have it be so.

“What is it?” Eric asked tenderly, scooting closer to Dylan. “Tell me.”

The taller of the two shrunk back into the corner of the couch. Eric could feel him slipping away. Dylan felt static-y and numb, knowing that no matter what he said or what he did not a _damn_ thing could make a difference.

“Dylan,” Eric said a little louder. “Dude, come on. Don’t- now is not the time for isolation, man. Talk to me. I’m here. We’re here. _Together_.” He put his hand on Dylan’s, shuddering slightly at the freezing temperature of the other’s fingertips. The tension was as heavy as a boulder on each of their shoulders.

“Don’t shut me out.”

Dylan sighed deeply and looked up at Eric. Again, he was faced with the same dilemma, not knowing what to address first. The genuine concern coming from Eric seemed fraudulent and it stung like alcohol being poured on a gaping wound. Dylan chewed on his lip and contemplated his words very carefully. In the end, it all came out as smoothly as a stream of vomit.

“Man, I don’t fuckin’ know,” Dylan sharply exhaled. “I don’t fuckin’ know, and it’s killing me. I know that we have… the fuckin’- THING comin’ up and it’s supposed to be grand and amazing and we’ll finally do something other than slowly kill ourselves while also being part of the passing of everyday human events but at the same time I feel as if it’ll be pointless just like everything else we’ve ever done- and- I just- we- I don’t- Eric! Just- Help me, man. Help me! I’m so fucking sick of this- this- LIFE. I know, I’ll never find love; I know, I’ll never be enough; I know, with all my fucking being, that I. Don’t. Matter. So why even bother, Eric? Why bother, you know, with ME? You could easily go through NBK all by yourself and you could be the sole star of the show and you could execute it perfectly. Why do you even try to keep me by your side when I’m obviously just some fucking corpse you’re dragging along. Why do you care? And most of all, why me? You could do so much better. Fuck, you _deserve_ so much better.”

Eric had no idea that Dylan had ever felt this way. He had even less of an idea what to say. The guilt he had felt before was transforming into self-loathing. He felt so stupid at the fact that he was blind to Dylan’s pain. He wanted to gouge his own eyes out. He knew that if he was going to Hell, it would definitely be because he had hurt the only one who even mattered to him to the point of no return. Eric wanted to cry, yet Dylan had already started.

“I’m sorry,” Dylan whimpered, wiping away his fat tears. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just- I don’t fucking know, I’m sorry. I love you, and I’m going to miss you, and I’m sorry.”

There was a heavy period of time that was silently dedicated to the rawness of Dylan’s emotion.

Eric decided it was time.

Then, without warning, very carefully but swiftly, Eric took Dylan’s face. Dylan had only looked at Eric’s gentle, almost angelic countenance before Eric had leaned in and kissed him. The wetness of Dylan’s tears hinted in Eric’s mouth, and for some reason, Dylan’s sadness tasted so sweet to him. Dylan’s hands went to the back of the other’s head and pulled him closer, their lips mashing together clumsily. The swelling in Dylan’s chest melted away as their lips parted, all of the build-up escaping with a shaky breath.

With their foreheads making contact, they each moved their thumbs back and forth over the skin they had contact with before connecting once again. Eric pecked Dylan’s mouth several times before settling, tentatively taking Dylan’s bottom lip into his own mouth. He suckled on it gently and let it go, running the tip of the tongue over the seam of Dylan’s lips. He pulled away, chuckling at Dylan’s flush face. 

“What?” Eric smirked. 

Dylan ran a hand through his hair and he scoffed in disbelief, “Nothing. Nothing. I just- yeah. That happened. It happened.” He let out a low giggle. 

“Yep. It sure did,” Eric grinned. “It happened.” He leaned in to kiss Dylan’s cheek. He made a trail of tiny kisses down the other’s jawline, up to his ear, whispering lowly before flicking the younger’s pierced earlobe, “Do you want it to keep happening?”

A shudder went down Dylan’s spine and went straight to his groin. Squeezing his eyes shut, he hesitated before nodding and cocking his head to one side to allow Eric to have access to his neck. Eric brushed away Dylan’s locks and ran his tongue from the base up, resting his mouth on the back of his neck, assuring that his doing would be hidden by Dylan’s damaged ends. He began to nibble and suck on the salty skin, making sure that he would mark his territory. Dylan groaned into Eric’s ear. The sensation of his mouth made him aroused. Dylan felt his pants jump.

Leaving Dylan like a branded cow, Eric removed his lips from the other’s slick neck. The dim light from the dingy lamp made the lovemark noticeably purple. Eric couldn’t help but smile in satisfaction of his work, knowing that there would still be a hint of their newly found passion on Dylan’s body the day that they would seal their fates. 

“Let’s go to my room, V.”


	2. Egress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite a flurry of passion, nothing could make them escape the inevitability of April 20th.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *DON'T LIKE? DON'T READ.*  
> #KEEP YOUR HATE TO YOURSELF.#  
> @I DO NOT CONDONE/PROMOTE/GLORIFY ANY CRIMINAL ACTIVITY.@  
> &NOT ALL IS ACCURATE; I DO NOT HAVE A BETA; THIS IS OBVIOUSLY AN AU.&

Drunk, high, and unbearably hot, Eric and Dylan made the decision to take the risky journey through the house and up the stairs to the refuge of Eric’s room. Their late Saturday night had turned into a just-barely Sunday morning, and NBK was rearing in with each hour that passed. Although the new experiences they had just had in the basement were quite invigorating, the inevitable was still to come. With Wayne snoring loudly in his La-Z-Boy, unspilled beer in his fist and the TV screeching static, the boys tiptoed their way across the wood floors of the living room to the first step of a set of stairs.

“Fuck,” Eric whispered harshly. “We have to be fucking _quiet_ , dude, _seriously_.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dylan softly slurred, annoyed. “I’m _being_ quiet, tightass.” He stifled a hiss as Eric pinched his arm with his short nails.

Rolling his eyes in the dark, Eric smacked his lips and tugged Dylan along up the stairs. With each step taken, the shuffling of their feet grew louder and the creaks of the floorboards became deafening. Eric remembered how Kathy wanted so badly to carpet the stairs, just to add a little bit of luxury to the house, but Wayne refused flat-out. He huffed under his breath at how stupid his dad could be sometimes.

Tentatively reaching the final step leading to the hallway, Eric sighed in relief. “Almost there.”

The older of the two shuffled towards his room, leading Dylan by his hand. Although Eric was focused entirely on getting the both of them safely to his room, Dylan was giddy that his hand was being held. A tiny giggle escaped Dylan’s lips, and Eric in return harshly silenced him with a pinch on the back of his hand.

When Eric opened the door to his room, he roughly pulled Dylan in. He carefully shut the door and locked it, flicking on the light in the process, “Fucking finally.”

“You’re damn right,” Dylan whined, rubbing the back of his hand and arm. “That really hurt, you fartknocker.”

“Shut up,” Eric retorted. “You’re fine.”

Grabbing a towel from the corner of his closet door, he dropped it in front of the door to his room and wedged it in the crack underneath. Although, through trial and error, this method was deemed no good when trying to sneak a smoke in the house during the peak of winter, it was definitely better used to keep the light from leaking out.

“Take off your shoes,” Eric urged before pulling Dylan into a wet kiss. They each clumsily toed off their worn sneakers and held each other by the backs of their heads.

With Eric pushing Dylan towards the bed without separating their mouths, they fell into the confines of the sheets of Eric’s unmade bed. Dylan made a throaty noise when his back impacted the bed, a sweet noise that resounded in Eric’s head. He wanted to hear and taste and touch everything Dylan had to offer. Of course, whatever Eric Harris wanted, he got.

Straddling Dylan, Eric pulled away and sat up, “Don’t breathe a fucking word. I want us to be remembered for what we’re going to do to that damn school, not for what’s about to happen right now.” Although Eric didn’t have to worry about soft-spoken Dylan saying anything to anyone, his paranoia overpowered the insistence of knowing Dylan so well.

“Whatever you say, Reb,” Dylan dumbly nodded. He hooked his fingers around Eric’s belt loops and loosely held his hips as Eric peeled away his shirt. Despite the imperfections, Eric’s body was definitely not one to look down upon. 

Eric scoffed and rolled his eyes, “You’re drunk.”

“And you’re sexy. Any more observations?”

Eric smiled internally but his countenance was scowling. He never really knew how to take a compliment, especially since he had never been classified as any type of attractive before. “Take yours off, too.”

And so it was, that with each awkward shift and movement of their skinny, barely-toned limbs that they were finally in their respective pairs of underwear. Uncomfortably at half-mast and touching, they repositioned themselves once more, with Dylan underneath Eric. The warmth from Dylan’s body, particularly the heat between his legs, made Eric throb in anticipation.

“You still wanna do this?” Eric questioned tentatively. His comedown was washing over him and his mind was setting in on what exactly was happening. Although aroused, Eric still wanted Dylan to be responsive enough to consent. Well, at least something along those lines.

“Uh-huh,” Dylan muttered as he ran his hands over Eric’s back, pulling him forward. “Whatever you want.”

Eric leaned his head up and planted his lips on Dylan’s once more, easing his tongue into the cavern of Dylan’s mouth. Although the smoky, sour taste of the vodka-weed mixture conquered his taste buds, a more distinctive flavor made itself apparent. As their heated kiss became sloppy and their hands moved with incoordination amongst each other’s bodies, the side of Eric’s palm brushed against a hard, wet spot on Dylan’s abdomen.

Pulling away, Eric grimaced, “What the fuck dude, did you come already?”

“No,” Dylan pouted. “But I want to.”

Inaudibly apologizing, Eric tenderly kissed Dylan before sitting up upon his thighs. He tugged at Dylan’s elastic waistband with a hooked finger, “Can I take these off?”

The cool air of Eric’s room flowing against his hard cock made Dylan shudder, “If you could, please.”

Pulling the boxes down, Eric saw Dylan in all of his glory for the second time tonight, only this time he was rock-hard and bleary-eyed drunk. Compared to the panic and desperation he saw last spring while they were changing into swimsuits, this view was much better. He absent-mindedly licked his lips, placing his fingertip at Dylan’s leaking hole. The more he continued to mess with Dylan, the more comfortable Eric got with this entire situation they had gotten themselves into.

Dylan groaned and lifted his hips, “Fuck, Reb…!”

“What’s wrong, V?” Eric asked with fake obliviousness. This new way to push Dylan’s buttons was incredibly exhilarating to him. He took Dylan’s head between his index finger and thumb and gave a few experimental squeezes. “Huh?”

“Fuck, nothing’s- Oh, wow,” Dylan sputtered. He covered his eyes with the back of his forearm and lifted his hips once more. The stimulation of someone else touching his dick was almost too much. “Just stop being a fucking tease, Harris, you asshole.”

Giving a firm grip-and-tug around the shaft, Eric then quickly took his hand away. Dylan whined and peeked from behind his arm, only to see Eric working on pulling his own pair of underwear off of himself. What Eric lacked in length, he definitely made up for in girth. He almost felt ashamed of his own, but all that insecurity went away when he felt Eric’s on his.

“Well,” Eric said, looking down at both of them. “Clearly there’s a size difference here. But I think mine’s better. It’s only an inch or so smaller than yours.”

The arrogance tactic wasn’t always going to help Eric, especially not now. It wasn’t as if there was a chick there to help even out the board anyway. Dylan groaned, “Come the fuck on, Reb! Are you horny or what? Because I sure as Hell am. Hurry the fuck up!”

“Alright, alright,” Eric grumbled as he rolled his eyes. He instinctively spat in his hand and took both himself and Dylan into it. He felt Dylan shudder underneath him as he began to slowly, achingly, stroke. It was foreign, having Dylan’s in his hand too instead of just his own, but it wasn’t bad. Just heavier, and his hand almost couldn’t wrap around both dicks. It was more intimate than Eric would have thought, much more real and tangible. Dylan’s underside was hot and pulsing, while his own throbbed from the stimulation.

As Eric continued to tenderly work at their members, Dylan bucked his hips to try to create more friction. The last thing on his inebriated mind was having some kind of memorable experience that he was not going to remember anyway. He wanted to fuck, if not that, at least cum. In actuality, he quite enjoyed having Eric touch him in ways only he did himself, but it wasn’t cute that he was treating this as if it were his first time jerking off to a nudie mag at age 12.

 

“Reeeb,” Dylan whined, lifting his hips once more. “Please.”

Eric’s ears perked up. He tightened his grip and gave a firm tug, “I’m sorry. What was that?”

Dylan gasped and let out a quiet, throaty moan. “Please. Please, fucking, do something.”

Rutting against Dylan and pushing his hips down into the bed, Eric picked a pace and began to move his hand quickly and harshly. This made both teens groan into the air, each in their respective levels of pleasure. Precum smeared Eric’s fingers, making the ride a bit more slick. He hissed as he adjusted his index, both wet tips being shoved into it, his sensitive head being touched the way he usually does it alone. Dylan let out another moan at this, feeling a warmth pool in his stomach. It almost felt too soon for it to end. Apparently, vodka dick was more potent than whiskey dick.

Eric noticed the swelling of Dylan’s cock. Not loosening his grasp, and heightening the pace, he panted, “Oh shit, you’re close already? Are you really gonna cum so soon?”

“Oh, fuck, Reb,” Dylan huffed. “Fuck, it’s close. I’m gonna cum for you, Reb.”

Wow. Wow.

The words hung in the air, and the sound of Dylan’s voice when he said it lingered in Eric’s ears. He felt his own orgasm approaching after that. The actualization of Dylan’s wanton was new and exciting; Eric wanted so badly to experience it all in its entirety. Exactly how far was Dylan willing to go to get his release? How much he could beg before tearing up from the want? Eric wasn’t surprised at how well-hidden this notion was, but was disappointed that he couldn’t experience any more of it. The thought of Dylan heaving under him, with his legs up, and Eric pounding ruthlessly into him make his cock jump in his hand.

“Shit,” Eric breathed out. “I’m close, too.”

“Please,” Dylan whimpered once more, his balls tightening. “Give it to me.”

Biting his lip, a muffled grunt left Eric’s mouth as he came, semen coating his finger and Dylan’s abdomen. Dylan quickly followed suit, jaw slack and eyes squeezed shut. Riding out the orgasm, Eric slowed the pace but squeezed more, milking out every last drop. Eric pulled away, suddenly feeling cold. Their chests heaved as their pleasure subtly buzzed under their skins. Eric grabbed his trusty hand towel from under his mattress and wiped Dylan off with it, then used a dry side on his hand.

They each reconstituted themselves, reigning themselves back in and maybe, hopefully, forgetting this happened. As Eric pulled his underwear back on, and left the bed to find his shirt, he thought about how Dylan had said earlier that he loved him. In a way, Eric loved Dylan too. Dylan pulled his own boxers back on and shimmied himself under the covers. He scooted over to allow Eric to get in with him. Although it was a tight squeeze, they each didn’t mind this newfound attachment between them, even if it was going to be short-lived.

After that, they each thought about how unfair it was that NBK was just around the corner, and that it was likely that this wasn’t going to happen again before the day arrived. 

At least they could each say that they weren’t entirely virgins when they die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FEBRUARY 21, 2019  
> This is fast and sloppy. Who knows? Who cares?
> 
> Many thanks to pocketedwocket for all their help and support! Also, their writing is magnificent and better than mine. Trust me.

**Author's Note:**

> JANURARY THIRD, 2019:  
> WOWEE im finally posting this after working on it on/off for two years! im working on a chapter 2 for this one so stay tuned for that i guess  
> feedback is GREATLY APPRECIATED  
> okbai~


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